It was a Monday afternoon. After working my tail off—alongside a team of dedicated colleagues—to save my patient, he ultimately lost the battle. His family had been looking forward to his discharge from the ICU. The grief in their eyes when they received the news was almost unbearable.
It is always important to ask families for a few minutes to clean the body of their loved one before saying their final goodbye. It’s a respectful thing for me to do especially after a code, the room resembles a medical war zone—equipment scattered everywhere, wires hanging, urgency still lingering in the air.
The family agreed to step out for about 20 minutes, promising to return shortly. My team had already given everything during the code and were now attending to other critical patients. I couldn’t bring myself to ask for more help. They had already stood by me for over three hours through the chaos.
And so, I made the decision to clean the patient’s body alone.
In my 14 years as a nurse at that point, I had never done that before. I put a piece of gum in my mouth as if it would somehow numb my humanity.
Mr. Zeddy—let’s call him that—had been under my care for almost six weeks. I had seen him go from being in a coma and intubated on a ventilator to slowly waking up. There’s a bond that forms in moments like that—a human-to-human connection that you don’t easily forget. And me? I’m a talker. I talk to my patients. I speak life over them, even when they can’t hear me.
I said a prayer, then quietly began cleaning his body, changing the linens, positioning him with dignity. Then I went to call the family. Afterward, I moved on to my other patients without a moment to process what had just happened.
It took two days before the memory caught up with me.
I sat in silence as the entire moment replayed in my mind. I was stunned.
Who have I become?
Is this normal?
Am I numb?
And the deeper question surfaced:
How did I get here?
For years, I had programmed myself to protect my home from becoming an extension of my workplace. I rarely spoke about the things I witnessed—the trauma, the loss, the intensity. At most, I’d share lessons, particularly those tied to family dynamics, because they felt more “appropriate.”
I thought I was protecting myself. Protecting those around me.
But I didn’t realize how deeply numb I had become. How detached I was growing from my own emotions. And how unsafe that was—for my soul.
From Numbness to Awakening
That moment cracked something open in me.
For years, I had prided myself on being strong. Reliable. Professional. I carried grief after grief on my back, never daring to unpack it. I told myself that’s what a good nurse does. You keep moving. You don’t let the weight of it all touch your family. You don’t dwell.
But something had shifted.
I could no longer deny that I was functioning more like a machine than a human being. I wasn’t just emotionally tired—I was spiritually dry. And what scared me most was how normal that had become.
I didn’t need another vacation. I needed to heal.
I began to ask different questions—quiet ones at first, whispered between shifts and early morning prayers:
What if my compassion hasn’t run out—it’s just buried?
What if I’m meant to serve in a new way now?
What if helping others transform their lives is the next evolution of my own calling?
And that’s how I found life coaching. Or maybe—life coaching found me.
Coaching as a Continuation, Not a Detour
Many people see nursing and coaching as two different paths. But for me, they are deeply intertwined.
As a nurse, I was trained to respond to the physical body—but I always found myself leaning in closer when a patient needed emotional presence, spiritual comfort, or simply a kind voice.
Over the years, I became an ear to frustrated siblings, divided families, and loved ones carrying anger, confusion, or grief. I’ve sat with young adults who felt too inexperienced to make life-or-death decisions for their parents.
“If I change the code status and he dies… what if he still wanted to fight?”
“Hospice? That sounds like giving up. Am I assisting in killing her? That’s not what I believe in…”
These are the kinds of sacred questions I’ve heard again and again. And being who I am, I never just listened or just offered facts—I provided space —I offered encouragement. I gently told them, “Go home, read, pray, and come back. I’ll walk with you as you process.”
Sometimes, if they welcomed it, I’d even hold their hands and pray.
I realized I had been coaching all along, just without the title.
What drew me to coaching wasn’t just the chance to support people—it was the opportunity to help them rewrite their stories. To catch them before they fall too far. To be a mirror, a witness, a guide.
In many ways, coaching allowed me to come back to life.
It taught me to feel again.
To listen differently.
To pause and breathe.
And most of all—it gave me language for things my soul always knew but never had the space to say.
Looking back now, I realize: I was already coaching.
I was helping people make hard decisions from a place of clarity, not fear.
I was helping them find their voice in moments when everything felt too loud.
Embracing a New Chapter: From Nurse to Life Coach
Transitioning from nursing to life coaching wasn’t about leaving one calling for another; it was about expanding the essence of my purpose. In nursing, I care for the physical well-being of my patients. As a life coach, I now focus on nurturing the emotional and spiritual well-being of individuals seeking clarity, healing, and growth.
If my journey resonates with you—if you’re at a crossroads, feeling the stirrings of change, seeking a deeper connection with your true self, or preparing to embark on the lifelong journey of marriage—know that you’re not alone. I’m here to walk alongside you, offering the same compassion and support that have been the cornerstone of my career.
Let’s Connect: Whether you’re ready to explore the next steps in your personal journey or seeking guidance as you prepare for marriage, I invite you to reach out. Together, we can uncover the path that aligns with your authentic self and aspirations.
